


A Relatively Merry Christmas

by charleybradburies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Background Relationships, Brother-Sister Relationships, Cas is less in denial, Christmas, Cultural References, Dean in Denial, Developing Relationship, Dialogue Heavy, Dream Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Foreplay, Foreshadowing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Mistletoe, Movie Reference, Musical References, Nonverbal Communication, POV Dean Winchester, Phone Calls & Telephones, Teasing, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wet Dream, Work In Progress, au in which literally no one cares about the speed limit at all whatsoever except charlie, mothering!Charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Per Dean's desperate request, Charlie's returned to the bunker and they've officially decided to be brother and sister; she uses this to push Dean out of his comfort zone. As a result he ends up with a particularly special Christmas present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How Deep Should You Sink Before You Swim?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's alarm rouses him from a particularly gratifying dream, Charlie calls him out on his denial, Cas is pressed to make a pivotal decision, and Dorothy returns from Oz. All in all, it's a rather busy Christmas Eve - so far.

23.12.13 - roughly 7:00 AM CST  
Men of Letters Bunker

_Cas's kiss quickly consumes him, and before he even knows it they're undressed, collapsing onto Dean's bed. Deep breaths are few and far between as his mouth trails gently down Cas's body and takes him in, both literally and figuratively. It's unfamiliar, erotic, tender…then he's lying prostrate on his bed, lower lip bleeding from the pressure with which he's biting it, and Cas is inside him. It's surreal, and uncomfortable at first, but then it's good, it's so fucking good, and he fucking loves it. He loves it to the point where he can't even get enough, and it's rough and it's electric and carnal and he's ecstatic. Cas is ecstatic and they're hot and sweaty rubbing against each other and they fit together perfectly and Dean can't help but think that it's too good to be true._

And of course, it is. The 7:00 AM alarm fulfills its purpose and Dean jerks awake to his cold and empty bed in the bunker. Brashly, he flings the device towards the wall. It slams, but doesn't break - Charlie had said it was unbreakable - and leaves a noticeable dent in the wall. Within seconds, the door swings open, and Charlie's behind it, panting.  
"What the hell was that?"  
"Don't wanna talk about it," Dean mutters, but as soon as he looks at her he sees the concern she's trying to conceal beneath her eyelids. He sighs tentatively.  
"I threw the goddam alarm clock," he grumbles, straightening the sheets of his bed, hoping she doesn't see that they're practically covered in sweat and semen.  
"Uh, yeah, I can see that," she pushes expectantly, but he doesn't look back up at her, instead slipping on his bathrobe.  
"Listen, Dean, I-"  
"Charlie, don't."  
Dean pushes past her and through the doorway, and she turns to look towards him as he walks away.  
"You should talk to him, Dean," she says softly but with force, and it feels like an axe to the back. A moment later he stops in his tracks.  
"Who?" he says, turning back around, voice vindictive and as steady as he can keep it.  
"Don't give me that!" Charlie sneers at him, and they're both the angriest they've ever seen each other.  
"Give you what, Charlie?"  
"All that platonic-and-over-and-angsty-over-losing-your-best-friend bullshit you're always rattling off! Dean, it's hurting you!"  
"It's not bullshit, Charlie," he retorts, but his resolve is already fading. _Am I really so messed up as to be angry at my adopted-baby-sister over this? Guess this is why she was the little sister I never wanted, dammit. ___  
"Like hell it's not," she scoffs, hands migrating to her hips, and when his eyes meet hers he can see that she is either going to start crying or shank something.  
"Dean-"  
"We weren't together or anything-"  
"Call him, Dean."  
They're still looking at each other, but they stand in silence and wait for their breathing to slow. They don't really need to speak to each other; they know each other well enough that their expressions say what they need to.  
Charlie drops her hands, going over to Dean and wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulls her close, laying his forehead gently on her shoulder as his hands go to her shoulders, fingers entwined in her hair.  
"Where should I even start?" he whispers eventually. She waits a while before responding.  
"Christmas," she answers definitively.  
"Christmas?"  
"Ask him to come home for Christmas. It'll be better in person, when you can see each other. It's too easy to bail on the phone."  
"And if he says no?"  
"Then you talk over the phone and make the best of it, but Dean, you need to talk to him. This - all of this - is eating you from the inside out."  
"He can't change that. He can't just poof in here and bring everyone back."  
"No, but that's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried about you. You need him, and you have needed him, since way before you'd even met me or Kevin. And he needs you, too. You're just trying to ignore it so damn badly that you don't see it. But I do, Dean…Call him. If not for yourself, for me. I can't just stand here and watch you like this."  
She pulls away slowly, leaving her hands resting on his shoulders.  
"Mull it over for a bit, and call this evening. In the meantime, come get some food and help me decorate."  
"We have to decorate?" he groans.  
"It's Christmas, Dean! Of course we have to decorate!"  
He rolls his eyes affectionately, a smile spreads across her face, and she drags him to the dining room, shoving a string of lights into his hands.

 

23.12.13 - roughly 10:30 PM CST  
Nora's Residence

"Just…please, please, come home. I really- I really need you to come home. If nothing else…at least call me back so I know you're safe. I, uh, I miss you. So just, please, call me…"  
The voicemail finishes up for the fifteenth time and Cas drops the phone onto the coffee table, sighing and trying to ignore the sincerity and the shaking in Dean's voice.  
"You know, if you want to go, we'll be driving to Kansas tomorrow anyway," Nora's soft voice crawls from the kitchen. She comes over to the couch and sets a glass of water on the table.  
"How horrific could it be?" she cooes.  
"He kicked me out," Cas says matter-of-factly.  
"And, understandably, he regrets it."  
They both pause.  
"Obviously, you both care deeply for each other. You're not in the best of places right now, but if nothing else, you might expedite a reconciliation, no?"  
"Perhaps…although, I'm not sure that's what I want."  
"Of course not. You want to erase whatever it is that parted you in the first place. But given that's not possible…"  
"Reconciliation is the best option."  
"Certainly the healthiest."  
Nora pushes herself up from the couch.  
"Get some sleep; we'll talk logistics in the morning."

24.12.13 - roughly 10:00 AM CST  
Men of Letters Bunker

"Calm down already!" Charlie gripes, attempting to wrestle Dean's cell out of his hand.  
"You're the one who told me to call!" Dean retorts, opening his second beer of the morning.  
"Maybe his phone's dead, Dean."  
"Or maybe he's dead! Or maybe he hates my guts and is purposely ignoring me."  
"Dean-"  
"But he's not gonna call back so we're never gonna know! I knew this was a terrible idea."  
Charlie sighs theatrically.  
"And this is what I came back from fucking Oz for?"  
"Did someone say Oz?" a cheerful voice echoes from upstairs.  
"Hey, you made it!" Charlie speeds up the staircase, greeting her newly returned friend. They - slightly awkwardly - make their way over to and down the stairs. Dean waves half-heartedly.  
"Where is everyone? Out stocking up on eggnog, I hope!"  
Charlie's face falls.  
"What is it, Red?"  
"Dean, you get started on lunch. I'll explain everything to Dorothy."  
"Charlie…" he groans. She turns to face him inquisitively, her look of sisterly concern flushing into her face.  
"I've gotta go, Charlie. Now that I've tried, I'm not gonna stand not knowing," he murmurs.  
"Yeah, yeah. Just, um, take some food with you, and drive safely."  
"Got it, mom," he chuckles, leaning forward and hugging her.  
"What, you're leaving?" Dorothy exclaims. "Well, I guess tonight's just as good a night for Girls' Night as any!"  
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Dean tells them both jokingly, and Charlie pretends to be offended.  
"Go get some real clothes on; I'll make you a lunch."  
"You know, I can stop and get food, Charlie," he says, walking backwards down the corridor.  
"Not on Christmas fucking Eve you can't," she declares. He puts his hands up in surrender and turns into his room.


	2. Dean Winchester Is Convinced that Denial is in Egypt. He Is Wrong.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas calls back, Charlie plays fairy godmother, Dean tries not to hum love songs involving angels, and Christmas Eve turns into the Day of Reckoning - but not the way you'd think.

24.12.13 - roughly 4:00 PM CST  
Men of Letters Bunker

Laughter fills Charlie's room of the bunker, worming its way out through the door and permeating the air. The still-too-solemn dwelling would do well with as much cheering as it can get.  
"Red," Dorothy nudges her head to the door, and Charlie hears more clearly the stream of music. Back to Black, to be specific - just days ago she'd decided that Dean deserved a real ringtone and it had rung with that very verse since.  
"What is that?" Dorothy says.  
"AC-DC," Charlie mumbles, heading for the door.  
"AC-what?"  
"It's a band...never mind."  
Dorothy follows as Charlie rushes through the corridor, and not a minute later Charlie grabs Dean's phone from a crevice in the couch. She hits redial and presses the speaker to her ear without so much as looking at the screen. A gravelly voice answers, "Dean?"  
"Um, no, actually, this is Charlie…"  
Her stomach twists with realisation and she pulls the phone far enough away to see the screen. "Oh my god."  
"This is…this is Dean's cell phone, right?"  
"Yes, yes! He must have forgotten it." As she closes her sentence, cacophonous thoughts rush through her head, disturbing her usually calm and cheery demeanour.  
"Is he-"  
"He's fine. He's not here but he-he's fine. Are-are you? Fine, I mean?"  
"Yes, I am fine. Am I…correct in that you are the Charlie who had left for Oz?"  
"I'm Dean's only Charlie! Oh, that came out wrong. Never mind. Um, you said you're fine but what-what do you need?"  
"Well, transport, mostly, I suppose."  
"Cas, where are you?"  
"Lebanon Town Square."  
She breathes in sharply. _You got this, Captain._  
"Stay put. I'm on my way."  
Dorothy looks at her with raised eyebrows.  
"Girls' Night Out, apparently!" Charlie says quickly, swooping over to the kitchen to grab her car keys.

24.12.13 - roughly 5:00 PM CST  
Baby the Impala, nondescript Interstate Highway

Snowflakes are taking their sweet time drifting down from the sky, and the roads are mostly clear. It's been hours since Dean turned the radio off - nothing good is on, just holiday crap - but he's been tapping the goddamn Cowboy Junkies on the wheel. He knows all the words, but even alone, he pretends he doesn't. Some of this stuff is far too close to home for comfort. His practically-silent run-through of Misguided Angel, however, is interrupted very sharply when a phone goes off. It's the one next to him but considering he's hearing Katrina-and-the-fucking-Waves, he figures he'd grabbed Charlie's on accident.  
 _Well, shit. If this is some smitten chick…_  
He can see the screen from where he is, but the name that shows up is his.  
 _Charlie…_  
He flicks it open with his right hand.  
"Hello, Dean," he says teasingly.  
"Oh, shush. Are you sitting down?"  
"I'm driving; of course I'm sitting down."  
"Yeah, about that. Get off at the next exit."  
"Wait, what?"  
"Get off at the next exit, turn around and come back."  
"What? Why am I turning around?"  
"He's here, Dean."  
"What?"  
"Him. Here. Now. Come."  
The second part of the drive is even more stressful than the first, having no context from which to discern why Cas would have taken it upon himself to get home. Dean had said to call him - he knew that much, since he'd said it at least ten times within the voicemail he'd left before, not to mention every other damned call afterwards - but he'd kept his phone on his person every minute after that - at least, until he'd taken Charlie's, but she'd have called if Cas had called, right? - so there was no way he'd missed a call. He'd even slept with the thing, like a lovesick _fucking_ teenager. But really, that's what he was, wasn't it? That's as far as he'd gotten: pining. Sure, it was pretty intense pining, but that's all it was. He was a thirty-five year old man, and yet he felt like a teenage girl in a sitcom, sitting by the phone, waiting for it to ring and Prince Charming to be on the other end, asking her if she'd like to have an all-expenses-paid trip to the diner Friday evening. That was not something straight men in their thirties did. There was so much wrong with this picture, considering that he was indeed a straight man in his thirties. Not that straight men in their thirties knew by heart love songs about men, either, or - _shut up, Winchester, before you crash into a gay pride parade._

24.12.13 - roughly 10:00 PM CST  
Men of Letters Bunker

Even before Dean sees Charlie he's greeted by her omnipresence, in a home now smelling strongly of sugar cookies and draped in tinsel. He drops the meagre remainder of the food she'd packed him on a counter in the kitchen, his outerwear in the mudroom, and follows a chorus of laughter back to her room, where she sits with Dorothy as well as Cas. She's dressed them all in celebration, but Dean had expected that. She waves to him in the doorway.  
"Walking on Sunshine? Seriously?"  
"It's a good song!"  
"If you say so."  
She chuckles, as any little sister would, and pops up off the bed to give him a short hug and switch phones. He welcomes her embrace, of course, but it hurts that he can see that while Dorothy is still happily fixed on a black and white Rudolph, Cas is now staring at the floor. At least, he was, until he'd realised that Dean was practically staring at him.  
"We'll, um, stay here in my room; you guys just, you know, anywhere you can talk," Charlie mumbles at Dean and Cas, a small smile aimed at each of them. She squeezes Dean's hand a last time - moral support, he figures - and Cas stands up carefully and follows Dean away from Charlie's room.  
Dean fidgets with everything he passes, trying his best to avoid the weight the moment needed.  
"You should've called," he says, more softly than he'd hoped.  
"And said what?" Cas replies.  
"I dunno, an RSVP would've been nice. Or at least a 'hey, I'm alive, thanks for…caring.' Something along those lines, maybe!"  
"Regardless, it seems you'd had other plans."  
"Other- Cas, I was heading out there to see if you were okay! Didn't Charlie-"  
"Charlie informed me that the context in which you left was not for her to say."  
"Of course she did," Dean grumbles, seemingly sighing and chuckling at the same time. His hands cover his face as he feels the flush of red to his cheeks that follows.  
"Speaking…of which," Cas prods. "What was the context in which you left?"  
"You know me, I like to…know things. You hadn't responded, so I…figured I'd try to check up on you."  
"And you decided to drive across the country rather than call another time?"  
"Well, Cas, after calling about thirty times in the span of twelve hours, it didn't seem the most realistic way to reach you!"  
Cas sighs.  
"What, suddenly you don't want half a thing to do with me? I mean, I know we agreed on this whole living our own lives thing, but Cas-"  
"You kicked me out," Cas says bluntly, and Dean's head drops.  
"And you won't even tell me why. I thought you wanted me here, Dean - I believed it with everything I had, and then you kicked me out."  
As much as Dean's still trying to hide it, Cas can see that Dean's trembling. There's a couch nearby which Charlie had switched out for some chairs - apparently in the spirit of the holidays - and Cas pads over to it, hoping Dean takes the hint. After a moment of distinct resignation, Dean moves to sit next to him, teardrops clear in his eyes as he opens his mouth slightly, unable even to speak. Ignoring his own uneasiness, Cas lays his left arm on top of the back of the couch, half consciously leaving his right hand to rest on Dean's left shoulder, falling almost in place with his original mark on Dean's surprisingly soft skin.  
And against what he wants to believe is his better judgement, Dean goes to pieces in Cas's arms. The sensations of Cas's hands, breath, warmth, are all too necessary, and any embarrassment about any aspect of the situation fades in minutes. Eventually the stream of tears comes mostly to a stop, and Dean spares few details about the weeks previous as he confesses his part in the tragic events that had come to pass.  
"It wasn't your fault," Cas murmurs.  
"It's entirely my fault," Dean argues.  
"You were trying to save your brother, and you weren't seeing things clearly. You placed your trust imprudently. That doesn't make it-"  
"That totally makes it my fault."  
"Dean-"  
"I was being a selfish idiot-"  
"As you have been in a number of other situations, the majority of which have been resolved."  
Dean grunts noncommitally, and buries his face deeper in the crook of Cas's neck.

 

 


	3. That Will Definitely Not Be All, Mr. Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The move is made, Dean and Charlie tease each other, Dorothy is intrigued but confused, and Dean and Cas are 500% whipped.  
> Homosexual tendencies. Film references. Vodka. Mistletoe. And it isn't even officially Christmas - yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, unlike chapters one and two, is only one scene, which begins immediately after the end of the previous chapter with Dean and Cas sitting on the couch late on Christmas Eve. There are some line breaks which are meant to enunciate some parts, but the POV and the scene are the same throughout the entire chapter.

 

24.12.13 - roughly 11:00 PM CST

Men of Letters Bunker

 

It's a soft, warm kind of comfort, the kind Dean wants badly to deny, fighting within himself to pretend that Cas's arms around him did not grant him more pleasure or ease his mind any better than what he and a bottle of whiskey could do for himself. He didn't cry, not like this. He didn't cuddle, _definitely_ not like this. He had no more reason to crave Cas's tender embrace than he did to know the lyrics to Misguided Angel. It's then that the weight and the annoyance of the realisation really hit, just as Cas considers changing the placement of his hands, and Dean moves his head back toward the back of the couch. His relatively cleanshaven cheek brushes gently against Cas's stubble - it's a good bit more arousing than he'd have thought - and he bites his lip, moving even farther from Cas's face.

"What?" Cas murmurs, startled by Dean's sudden movement.

"Nothing."

"Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"My facial hair, does it bother you?"

"W-why would it bother me?"

_I mean, it might be a bit rough on some softer skin like my stomach or thighs or something, but my hands would be fine-_

"You were laying on my shoulder."

"Right. N-no, it doesn't bother me. Didn't."

"You don't sound particularly sure about that."

"Why are we even talking about this?" Dean mumbles nervously.

"Dean-" Cas begins, but stops short. "You know why."

"Cas…I…"

Dean's mouth is still slightly open, but he can't say anything else, his facade as well as the anxiety that had seeped through it fading into affliction and heartache. A moment, just a moment, with Cas, inches from each other, looking into each other's eyes, could just be the moment he needed, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to say it, to say anything, to move. He knew what he wanted, he could feel it, he could feel _him_. Cas was next to him, looking at him, pushing the conversation, the momentous conversation, the **I-fucking-love-you-you-son-of-a-bitch-stop-fucking-leaving-and-kiss-me-till-I-can't-breathe** conversation. And he was petrified worse than a deer in headlights.

 

But it happens, it fucking _happens._

Cas kisses him.

And it's _the_ kiss of his entire fucking lifetime. _That_ kiss, the kiss that everyone always talks about and no one ever says whether it's actually happened, when the world stops and sparks fly inside your head and you feel like you must be on some heavy drugs because you don't know where all the heat inside you even came from. 

It's objectively a fairly chaste kiss, at most thirty seconds of barely more than lips pressed against each other, but leaning into each other on the couch, with hands around each other's necks, it feels like so much more. Dean's practically in shock, partly from disbelief, and his breathing's ceased entirely. 

_A kiss, it's just a kiss…hell, it's barely a kiss._

It lasts forever, but not long enough. A jolt of melancholy shoots through Dean's bones as Cas, ever so gently, pulls away from him. 

"I know," comes a soft, deliberate whisper from Cas's lips a few seconds later. 

"You know," Dean repeats almost thoughtlessly.

"I know."

 

A breathy laugh escapes Dean, and his head tilts downwards again.

"You made me watch those films; should I not reap some benefit?" Cas says, half jokingly, and Dean gasps a little.

"Classics, Cas. Those are classics," he says sharply, then hears the impeccably timed opening of the door to Charlie's bedroom. He puts a finger up near Cas's mouth as though to forbid him to talk.

"Just the girl I need-"

"Wow, Dean, be a little more daring, will ya?" Dorothy interjects, barely an inch behind the redhead as they pass by on their way to the kitchen.

"Charlie! Star Wars. Classics, right?" Dean continues.

"Absolutely!" Charlie says emphatically. "Wait, how did you get to - oh."

Her eyes and her smile widen, and she purses her lips, focusing all too intently on the task of retrieving a bottle of vodka from the refrigerator.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down! Since when do we have vodka here?" Dean exclaims.

"Since Christmas Eve, duh! I bought it a few hours ago."

"And the two of you...are gonna drink...that entire bottle of vodka."

"There's more in the fridge. It's Christmas Eve, Dean. Live a little!"

"I am plenty alive, thank you very much," Dean feigns a sneer. 

"You want me to grab a-"

"Yes, please."

Charlie hands the bottle to the very amused Dorothy, swings back over into the kitchen, and plucks another bottle of vodka from the fridge. She struts to the the table nearest the couch with the bottle in one hand and two wine glasses in the other and sets them down gingerly. She clasps her hands professionally in front of her waist and stands up straighter.

"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" she says in a tone somewhere between pride and mocking, and Dean smiles his 'big brother' smile. He grabs the glass closest to him, and raises the empty glass as if to toast.

"Yes, that will be all, Miss Potts."

She gives him a wink, then bounces away over to Dorothy, whose face is contorted in confusion. 

"Iron Man. Comics. Movies. Superhero stuff. I'll show you later," Charlie clarifies quickly, and reaches into the back pocket of her jeans, grabbing a small object and throwing it at Dean. 

"Merry Christmas Eve!" she says cheerily, and skips off. It takes a few seconds for Dean to realise that it's a sprig of mistletoe that's just landed in his lap.

"Charlie!" he groans. 

"Expediting the inevitable! You'll thank me later!" she replies before promptly shutting her door, and Dean's not sure how to respond except in a chuckle of mixed emotions, left hand fiddling with the mistletoe and his right just barely touching Cas's shoulder. As he's looking down at his lap, deliberating, Cas places his fingers on top of Dean's and slowly pulls the mistletoe away. Dean looks back up in curiosity and watches as Cas rests his arm on his head and lets the sprig dangle near his face.

"Your turn," he says invitingly, and Dean puts on a look of mild offence.

"Turns? We're taking turns? Really?"

"You're not passing on your very first turn, are you?" Cas jokes, trying not to laugh as they're leaning closer again.

"Well, I would, but you see, there's a rule about mistletoe, and you know I always follow the rules..."

"Yeah, every single one...so, uh, what's the- what's that rule about mistletoe?"

"Oh, I think you know."

"Do I?"

"I think you do," is Dean's final statement before initiating the second kiss, which turns out even better than he'd hoped. It's full of the same heat as its predecessor, but gleams with an element of familiarity that lends itself to passion even as the kiss begins to deepen, and Cas's arms wrap around Dean's neck and pull him closer, and Dean's hands rest at Cas's waist, gradually bringing him tighter. When they come up for air, it's Dean who breathes definitively, "you know."

"I know," Cas replies.

 

A moment later, they again move to close the small distance between them, but suddenly Dean's right hand darts up to Cas's mouth, halting them.

"Cas, put the damn mistletoe down," Dean demands. Cas hesitates.

"But what if I need to convince you to kiss me again?"

"I don't think that'll be a problem, considering I don't plan on stopping anytime soon."

"What about that vodka?"

"Shut up, that was supposed to sound romantic."

Cas laughs softly, setting the mistletoe next to the bottle on the table.

"Good thing, too, considering I don't plan on letting you."

"We're getting back to this whole turns thing again, aren't we? Because I'm pretty sure that's just gonna end in some sort of fight for dominance."

"Well, _one_ of us is going to have to declare our _territory_ sooner or later."

"I feel like your saying that _shouldn't_ turn me on as much as it does."

Cas grins even wider.

"Is it still your turn?"

"Damn right it is," Dean declares, positioning his hands on Cas's back, pulling him in tightly and meeting their lips yet again, this time more energetic and sensual, and quickly deepening. It grows urgent and needy and breathless, and the reindeer sweater Cas is wearing exits the picture after about twenty minutes.

Dean's flannel lasts another ten. 

Cas's button-up barely makes it five after that, and it's then they decide they might as well drink at least a little of the vodka before it starts sweating, too.

 

 


End file.
